In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!

It is a great disgrace to religion, to imagine that it is an enemy to mirth and cheerfulness, and a severe exacter of pensive looks and solemn faces.

Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more. Days of danger, nights of waking.

What a strange scene if the surge of conversation could suddenly ebb like the tide, and show us the real state of people's minds.

He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders himself obnoxious to his own reason; and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the man, and sets his two natures at variance.

Caution comes too late when we are in the midst of evils.